


Futility and Time Again

by IOVITA



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, FrUK Loving You Through Time Event, M/M, Name Changes, set in Ptolemaic Alexandria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IOVITA/pseuds/IOVITA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city of Alexandria is in a strange and restless mood; their deposed king is returning with the help of the Romans, and their current queen is afraid. It’s looking to be a brutal winter. With your whole world crumbling around you, you wouldn’t think it would be easy to find love.</p>
<p>{Written for the 2015 FrUK Loving You Through Time Event}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Futility and Time Again

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll just give a quick explanation of the historical situation; Ptolemy XII (commonly known as Auletes or the bastard) was king of Egypt up until 58 BC, when he was ousted by his oldest daughter Berenice IV, who is better known as the older sister of Cleopatra VII. The royal family were Macedonian Greeks, who had ruled Egypt since Alexander the Great’s death. They made Alexandria their capital, and it was the intellectual capital of the world for hundreds of years. Scholars often came to study and teach at the Mouseion, where they were given free lodging and meals.
> 
> I have given Arthur and Francis different names, as obviously those names didn’t exist in the ancient world. Francis is Kallias, and Arthur is Ategnatos. Enjoy!

He woke early every morning, with the dawn light pouring in through a small window in his room.  He dressed quickly, ate a little, slipped sandals onto his feet, and exited fast.  The room he rented was tiny, but it was clean, and the landlord was fair.  He wouldn’t be back until late.

Outside, market stalls were being set up; the quiet murmur of the owners filled the wide streets.  Kallias lived just off the Canopic Way, where litters holding the rich paraded up and down, and fights broke out every two hours or so, and the noise was deafening at best, with the haggling of buyers and sellers, the cries of children and the barking of dogs, the low, deep music emitting from temples and the almost melodic tones of a pair of lovers whispering in corners, the swearing and coarseness of fishmongers and the crashing of waves at the shore; it was Alexandria, and Kallias loved it more than anything he had ever known.

Every day, as the rising sun lit the streets and turned them to gold, Kallias hurried through the Gamma district, up through Beta, where few had yet woken, and ahead of him was the Alpha district.  How to describe it?  The palace had been refurbished and rebuilt with every new succession of rulers, until it occupied nearly a quarter of the city.  Lovingly crafted with marble, the inner walls studded with precious jewels, lush gardens almost glowing in the sunlight, and the great Mouseion and Library complex, near the front of the district.  On mornings like these, where the rising winter sun reflected on the glistening surfaces of streets and buildings, the palace seemed to _glow_ , a vision unparalleled.

He approached the palace gates, greeting the guards, who, like they did every morning, scowled and let him through.  Not the shaded paths and walkways for Kallias; the servants’ entrance was where he went.  Down into the belly of the palace, where the cooks reigned supreme.  Servant girls, holding pots and pans, passed him, eyes exhausted.  A few greeted him; he was a regular sight.

He continued like this for some time, walking through passageways lit by torches, nodding to servants and slaves alike in passing.  It was cold outside, but you wouldn’t have known it in here; the heat emited from the kitchens was constant and sweltering.  The sooner he got out of here, the better.

Eventually, he reached the flight of stairs used by the handmaidens.  They glared at him upon sighting him; after all, hair was typically a woman’s duty, and in their eyes, he was cheating them out of a job.  Kallias ignored them all, moving quickly up the stairs until he was in the royal quarters.  Before him, a door encrusted with jewels.  He knocked quietly.

“Kallias?  Is that you?  Come in.”

He opened the door and walked inside.  There she was, the Queen of Egypt, sitting at a desk, scanning a parchment.  A group of advisors stood in front of her.  Lounging on a couch to her right was her husband, Archelaus.

His entrance was of no interest to them.  He gathered perfumes, jewels, combs from a table, and approached the Queen’s back.  Her hair was dark and thick, soft in his hands.  Deftly, with the kind of expertise only gained from years of practice, he took a strand and began to plait it.

“What of Crassus?  If Pompeius is in favour of my father’s return, what does Crassus say?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” said an advisor, shifting uncomfortably.

“We’ll send someone to him, plead our case -”

“And what?  Have them killed again?” said Archelaus gruffly from the couch.

“What’s Caesar’s opinion?” she asked, turning her head.  Kallias turned with her, threading a string of pearls into the braid.

“What does he care?” said another advisor, small, nervy.  “He’s up in Gaul, isn’t he?”

“He wants the bastard back,” Archlaus muttered.  “All Rome knows it.”

She gave a sigh, and he felt her head lower a fraction.  “What do we do?” she asked.  “Diocretes?”

A man near the back of the small group spoke up.  “We go to Crassus,” he said firmly.

She stiffened.  “Out of the question.”

“My Queen, we have no other -”

“There is _always_ another option,” she said.  The back of her neck was quivering angrily.  “I am not my father’s daughter.  I won’t raise taxes just to bribe that filthy, pig-fucking -”

“There’s no other way,” growled Archelaus, taking a gulp from a goblet beside him.  “Unless you run now.”

“Running’s the act of a coward!” she exclaimed.  “I am no cheat, no liar!  Of course, _you’d_ know about liars; you’re no son of Mithridates!”

Archelaus stood, furious, but Diocretes stepped forward and flung out an arm.  “We have no time for this,” he stated, quietly and urgently.  Something must be done.  If what they’re saying is true, if Gabinius plans to bring your father back to power, we need to implement plans now.  It should have been done long ago -”

“We never thought the Senate would listen to him -” interrupted Archelaus, but Diocretes continued talking steadily.

“Our army will do nothing against the Romans.  If they want your father back on the throne, he will be back on the throne.  Our only real chance is to bribe Crassus.”

“Bribe Crassus?  The richest man in the world?  He’ll bleed Egypt dry!” she cried.  “How much will he demand, twenty thousand talents?  More?”

“What else do you suggest?” asked Archelaus, still red in the face.

Kallias kept his face expressionless as he fastened pins into the coil of sleek, dark hair on the crown of her head.  Below him, she brushed a hand to her head, exhaled slowly.  “I don’t know,” she said quietly.  “I don’t know. Whether we bribe Crassus, or whether my father returns, either way, the people will have to pay.  Egypt is dying.  We’ve already been reduced to Rome’s lapdog - oh, if the first Ptolemy could see us know, he’d die of shame!”  She turned around, glancing at Kallias.  “Are you finished?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Thank you.”

She turned back.  Diocretes was speaking again, and Kallias longed to hear more, but a dismissal was a dismissal.  He gathered unused combs and placed them back on the table, then exited swiftly.  His fingers lingered slightly on the handle as he pulled it shut.

This was how it was now; every day, a new plan, a fresh bout of arguments, an overhanging shadow of regret.  Oh, to return to the days where the revolution was fresh, where the streets were swollen with cheers and merriment, where the deposed King had fled and the two Queens had taken his place, Berenice and her mother, Cleopatra, so regal on the thrones of gold, and by Isis, Kallias longed for those days of triumphance to return.

But Cleopatra, being a Ptolemy, had plotted against her daughter, and it was no surprise to anyone that she died in her bed, face clenched in a death mask of agony and bloodied vomit staining her pillow.  Kallias loved the Queen more than anyone else, but he had never quite forgiven her for that.  To murder one’s own mother - it was a return to the terror of the old days, where kings and queens alike were captured and brought down to the gymnasium to be ripped to pieces by the mob, and in return the mob was slaughtered by their own sons in the army.  Vicious brutality had no place in this beautiful city, and yet just fifty years ago, the Canopic Way itself had run red with the blood of the innocent and guilty alike.

The drunkeness of victory had subsided long ago, and had been replaced by a sobering fear.  Ever since Gabinius, far away in Rome, had begun petitioning the Senate to return the bastard to the throne, people had packed up and left in a steady stream.  Alexandria had been subject to much bloodshed, to be sure, but never had it been stormed by a Roman army.  It was no longer a question of if, but when.  Ptolemy Auletes would return, and Kallias feared for Berenice.  He feared for Egypt itself.

The wind was vicious at this time of year; the waves dumping poor souls to the bottom of the ocean; and sickness was all too common.  The temples were packed to bursting with the rich and poor, offering to Isis for their spouses, siblings, children, parents.  It was quite common for priests and priestesses to march in procession down the wide streets, chanting and shaking sistrums, but the rain was such that it was out of the question.  Festivals had been overlooked altogether, as the citizens crowded for shelter, shaking and coughing.  It was a bitter winter, the worst in twenty years.

The palace, however, was all too hot.  Kallias sat in the kitchens, fastening a pin in the hair of a kitchenmaid.  “All done,” he said, and she stood up, giggling, throwing a ‘thank you’ and a kiss at him, and sashaying away.  She was very pretty, he thought, a little sadly.  Once, he would have jumped into bed with her.  Now…

“Out!  Get out!”

The shout came from behind him.  He turned, internally groaning, as he faced Agathe, one of the cooks.

“I don’t need you distracting my girls with your fancy hair tricks!  Can’t you see we’re busy?”  She turned to the gaggle of young women behind her.  “Get back to work!”

“Agathe, I was merely entertaining the young ladies.  It’s freezing outside, and sweltering inside.  They could do with a little distraction.”

“Distraction?  You mean seduction?  Don’t shake your head at me, Kallias, I know your ways!  Your lot never stops!  One day, you’re playing with the hair on their heads, the next you’re playing with the hair on their -”

He sighed.  “I’m not interested in them.  I’m merely waiting around; I have time aplenty on my hands.”

“You can shove that time aplenty up where you like it, and get out!”

Her face was stony, her hands clenched firmly on her hips.  Anyone else he’d have charmed into letting him stay, but not Agathe.  Really, this wasn’t his day.

He made it up into the gardens, where the rain lashed the few plants left to soggy stems, sorry-looking flower heads floating in beds of soil that looked more like beds of mud.  Why hadn’t he brought a himation with him?  Curse it!  He was already soaked, shivering as the freezing water clawed at his bones.  Nothing to do but run for shelter - the Mouseion perhaps?  His legs were already pounding before the thought registered in his brain.  His sandals were wet and slippery; he felt himself slide and curled his toes in order not to lose grip.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, he was on the ground.  Gasping, Kallias felt the breath leave his lungs; his stomach and chest ached.  He had run into something.  The marble pathway seemed harder and colder than usual; he had borne the brunt of the fall on his elbows and by Serapis, they _hurt._

He sat up.  Nothing broken, but his dignity was certainly bruised, not to mention his back and elbows.  His teeth chattered, and that’s when he heard a grumble from beside him.

It seemed he had run into a person.

A man, by the looks of it, lay on the ground, wrapped in - was that a _toga?_ Really, this was Alexandria.  Surely the ridiculous garment would have cushioned the fall.  It seemed huge on this man, who was thin and quite small, but togas looked huge on anyone, come to think of it.  Kallias looked on in interest as the man picked himself up.

Well, now he didn’t seem quite so small.

He was also scowling, and - what was that on his face?  Two wet, furry things perched above his eyes, where his eyebrows should - oh.  _Oh._   They couldn’t be.  Those bizarre things couldn’t possibly be eyebrows, could they?

What was the world _coming_ to?

The man looked disgruntled, and it occurred to Kallias that perhaps he had stared at those… _things_ for too long, and he should stand up.             He did just that, and noticed he stood exactly eye to eye with the fellow.

“My apologies, stranger,” he said slowly.  The man couldn’t possibly be a Greek; hair the colour and texture of hay, and the eyebrows hinted at it, but the nose gave it away; a Celt, or Gaul, as the Romans would say.  The eyes were a particularly interesting shade of green, like the emeralds the Queen preferred threaded into her hair.

The man seemed itching to say something, but made an obvious effort to swallow it.  “I,” he began, slowly, his accent confirming what Kallias had suspected, “I am, c - could you tell me where to go, where, er, the lodging for teachers is provided, the direction we - weren’t particularly clear, I…”

One might have interpreted his stammering as merely nervous, but Kallias knew without a doubt the man was struggling not to insult him.  He raised an eyebrow and answered.

“Lodgings?  You’re in the wrong section of the Alpha district, stranger.  You’ve crossed into the palace.  The Museion is _that_ way.”

The man followed his finger and cursed under his breath.

“I just came from there, and the bloody place doesn’t exist.  What lodgings?  I didn’t see any damned -”

The man was detestable.

“Take me there.”

Kallias stared at him.  “What?”

“Well, you seem to know where the damned lodgings are.”

“I’m busy.”

“Liar.  You’re a servant, look at your sandals.  Your clothes may be nice, but your sandals are atrocious.  You don’t work in the gardens, your hands are too soft for that.  So why are you out here, running around in the gardens in the rain?  You’re not busy, or you would have gone on your way.  You’re a liar.”

“Atrocious sandals?  You’re the one wearing a toga, stranger.”

“It’s Ategnatos to you.”

“What tribe?”

Ategnatos hesitated, eyes quick and angry.  “Aedui.  Take me to the lodgings.”

“Fine.”

 

They marched through a corridor, dripping wet.  Kallias walked as fast as possible.  Best to get this over and done with, best to move quickly to disorient the Celt, best to get out of here before everyone remembered the golden-haired young man they’d had in their beds five years ago.

To his credit, Ategnatos kept Kallias’ pace, stalking behind him.  Kallias refused to turn around to check if he was still there, but he could hear the footsteps, hear the muttering under the man’s breath.

“Do you have someone bringing your belongings?” asked Kallias.

“Don’t have any, except for what I brought on my back,” was the answer.  “I’m a teacher.  I’m not rich.”

Kallias couldn’t help but chuckle at that.  “Well, you’ve come to the right place.  Here, teachers are like royalty.”

“That’s what they say.  Still, the place isn’t as grand as I expected.”

Kallias wheeled around.  “Excuse me?”

Ategnatos’ mouth lifted slightly.  “You heard me.  Alexandria is a city of festivals, of learning, of splendour - or it’s supposed to be.  But the streets are half-empty.”

He couldn’t help but emit a sad sigh.  “Alexandria is afraid.”

“Afraid?”

He couldn’t believe his ears.  “Surely you know?  That the bastard Auletes is returning for the throne.  That he is enlisting the support of Gabinius?”

“I heard something about Auletes during my time in Rome, but I paid it no heed.  To be quite honest, Egypt doesn’t really come up in conversation.”

“You’d think the Romans would be happier.  I shudder at the amounts the bastard has bribed the Senate; surely the Roman Treasury will be overflowing with gold.”

Ategnatos allowed himself a smile.  “Ah, but that is the Treasury.  Most of the gold won’t have anything to do with the people.  Oh, a festival here, a circus there, but nothing substantial for the mob.  Most simply don’t give a shit about Egypt.  The main political attraction is the consulship of Pompeius and Crassus.”

“The rivals.”

“Correct.”

Kallias brought the Celt to a halt outside a wide corridor, scattered with doors.  “Down here.  Make yourself at home.”

Ategnatos began to grumble again.  “I could have sworn I passed this way before…”

Kallias sighed.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get on.”

And with that, he left, chiton dripping water on the floor, and mind full of just how distinctly disagreeable the Celt was.

 

Over the next few days, Kallias found himself taking the long way to get wherever he needed to go, and the long way was through the Museion.  Really, he couldn’t justify this, as much as he tried, and so he was finally forced to admit to himself that he wanted to see Ategnatos.  More specifically, he wanted to see Ategnatos lost and out of place in the intellectual capital of the world.

He hoped that Ategnatos would keep wearing his toga and look ridiculous in doing so, but much to his disappointment, the man insisted on buying a chiton and wearing it - and quite frankly, it suited him.  His clothes looked Greek; he no longer looked so conspicious.

He would have loved to see Ategnatos stammering and scared of the students he taught.  Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if the students were more intelligent than the teacher!  But every time Kallias casually strolled past one of his classes, he was calm, focused, in control.  Talking earnestly to the students about the human body, what Aristotle and Hippocrates had taught them, and oh _why_ did he have to be intelligent?  Why couldn’t Kallias dislike someone who was stupid, and easy to hate?

To be quite honest, he wasn’t sure why Ategnatos irritated him so much.  The man had been grumpy, but to be fair, Kallias had knocked him to the ground upon their first meeting, albeit accidentally.  Maybe it was the eyebrows?  The accent?  No, it was something else, something less visible to the eye.  Others who had met him seemed to like him.  Kallias couldn’t for the life of him see why.

“Oh, just go and talk to the man!” Berenice said exasperatedly one morning.  They were alone, a rare occurrence in these tense times, and Kallias was carefully adding the finishing touches to the melon bun he had braided on the top of her head.

“Talk to him?  My Queen, it’s not that simple.”

Her head whipped around, and Kallias groaned as several braids fell out of place and swung beside her ears.

“Not that simple?  What are you, in love with him?  Just talk to him, curse at him, beat him to a pulp, I don’t know.  Just stop complaining about him to me!”

Well, that was it.  He’d been ordered to talk to the Celt; _royally_ ordered, no less, so he marched down to the Museion after carefully salvaging what was left of Berenice’s bun.  He really had no idea what to say.  Perhaps a simple ‘fuck you’ would do.

He wandered through the corridors of the building, peering into various rooms to see if - no, not there, not in that one either.  He sighed.  Perhaps Ategnatos was in the Library?

“You’ve been following me.”

The voice came from behind him.  Kallias spun around, only to see Ategnatos himself, leaning casually against the wall.  “For nearly a week now, you’ve been watching me.”

“As if I’d be bothered to follow you,” he said disdainfully, internally panicking.

Ategnatos’ eyes raised heavenwards.  “If you wish to attend classes, some of mine are free.”

“Is a man not allowed to go where he pleases?”

“Is a man not allowed to make an observation?”

They glared at each other.

“What’s your name, anyway?  You don’t seem to do anything, just hover around the grounds when it pleases you.”

“Kallias.  I’m the Queen’s hairdresser.”

Ategnatos laughed, teeth flashing.  “Ah.  When I first caught a glimpse of you, I thought you were a woman; that explains everything.”

“When I first saw _you_ , I thought two creatures had crawled onto your face; it took me quite some time to realise they are your eyebrows.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to mention them, especially after you stared at them so rudely when we met.  I think they’re quite striking.”

“You’re deluded.”

“And you’re no Greek.”

Kallias stared at him.

“Well, at least not a full Greek, anyway.  Your nose.  It has the slightest hint.  Your mother, grandmother, must have been a Celt.  Not so high and mighty now, are we?”

“I grew up a Greek.  Where did you grow up, in a tent?  Was your father a druid?”

“Educated a Roman, I’ll have you know.”

“Roman’s not a word you want to throw around here.”

“Else I might get taken down to the gymnasium and ripped apart?”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause, and then they both burst out laughing.  It was spontaneous, surprising; Kallias felt quite lightheaded.

“I was right, wasn’t I?  Your grandmother was a Celt?”

“Yes!  And was I right, was your father a druid?”

“No, but my uncle was!”

This produced fresh peals of laughter, until Kallias was doubled up, stomach tied into knots.  He looked up, and there was Ategnatos, and he decided he may not be quite so awful after all.

When they were able to breathe properly again, Ategnatos smiled.  “What does Kallias mean, anyway?”

“It means beauty,” he said, “and I think it’s the best name I could have been given, considering how gorgeous I am.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious.”

“What does Ategnatos mean?”

“Born again.”

There was a hush as he spoke the words.

“Do you think it’s possible that people are reborn?” Kallias asked.

“I don’t know what I believe, to be honest.  My mother told me the myths of my people, than I was sent to Rome, where I learnt those weren’t true, but something about the Roman and Greek gods didn’t strike me as true either.  Religion… I don’t believe in it, if I am to be honest.  It allows kings to hold power over people, and I want to be free.  How am I supposed to believe in rebirth if I don’t believe in the gods?”

“You’re an unusual man.”

“I’ve had an unusual life.”

There was a silence, the kind of silence that could only be described as awkward.  Both of them looked around anywhere but at the other, and Kallias didn’t know what to say.

“I should…”

“Go, yes,” said Ategnatos.

So Kallias did just that, moving hesitantly away, and then turning to leave, trying to make his steps stronger to diffuse the tension.  It seemed that perhaps Ategnatos wasn’t the beast he thought he was.  Kallias, although he could barely admit it to himself, would quite like to see him again.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop him complaining about the Celt, of course.

 

“They’re coming,” said Archelaus flatly, as the morning light made Kallias squint.  “The Senate had the decency to let us know.”

Berenice was shaking; he could feel the tremors rise up through her neck.  “So that’s it?  They’re coming?  We can’t fight it?”

“How?  They’re Romans!  We’ll be dead if we try.  The only option is to get you out of the country.  Raise an army, make a return…”

“We’ll need to hold a public assembly.  We’ll do it at the Soma.  The people deserve to know what’s happening.”

“We have to tell them they can’t fight.  It will just be worse for them if they do.  If they find me, they’ll kill me… they’ll kill you too, Archelaus.”

“I have to lead the army.”

“There’s no point fighting!  You just said -”

“We have to put up some sort of a fight!  Even if it’s nothing, we still have to show the Romans - and your father - that they can’t walk all over us!”

“And waste the lives of young men?”

“They want to fight, they’re itching for it!  Everyone hates the Romans!”

“Get them at Pelesium.  Don’t let them fight in Alexandria itself.”

Archelaus nodded and left the room.  Berenice was shuddering.  “I shouldn’t cry,” she said quietly.  “I am their queen, their champion; I must be strong.”

Kallias was left speechless; he honestly couldn’t say a word.  Beneath his hands, Berenice continued, her voice low and sad.

“We were so strong.  Don’t you remember, Kallias?  When we drove my father from the city, when we freed the people from oppression.  Egypt is prosperous again, and he will destroy it.  Mark my words, it won’t be long… it’s won’t be long before the Romans annex this place.  I give it twenty years.”

“Your brothers and sisters, you should keep them under guard,” Kallias said, trying to be reasonable, but Isis, it _was so hard_.  “The oldest one, Cleopatra, doesn’t she favour your father?  You can’t let her slip him any information -”

“I’ve already taken precautions against her, and Arsinoe, and the older Ptolemy.  Oh, they’ll be conniving and scheming, like they always are, the little brats.  I could kill them all, but it would make my father angry, he’d drink and ruin what’s left of this country - oh!  Oh, by the gods I - I…”

Her voice choked and she bowed her head.  “It’s over, isn’t it?”

He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Go,” she said quietly.  “Just go.”

Her hair was unfinished, but he left anyway, walking as fast as he could, pacing through the corridors.  He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care; Berenice’s leadership had freed him, and if she was captured, if she was killed, he didn’t know what he’d -

“Kallias!”

He collided with something - some _one_ , and the someone was holding his wrists and saying his name, and he simply did not care.

“Kallias!”

The world seemed like a dream.  The voice echoed above him, like he was drowning in a deep pool of water, and he could feel himself sinking further and further, and slowly, languidly, he lifted his head and he was staring at Ategnatos.

“Kallias, what are you - why are you - you’re crying.”

“They’re coming,” he said, frantically.  “The Romans, they’re bringing the bastard back.  It’s the end for her, Ategnatos, they’ll kill her if they find her, we’ve got to get her out of here but it’s too dangerous to cross the sea, and they’ll destroy the villages if she goes down the Nile and we don’t know how we can -”

“Shut up,” he said quietly.  “Shut up, and come with me.”

His tone was not rude, but slightly commanding.  He slung Kallias’ arm across his shoulder and moved quickly through the halls.  They were beautiful, jewels set in the walls, and columns carved with heroes.  The whole palace was extraordinarily beautiful.  Kallias realised he would miss it, because he had to go with Berenice, he needed to stay with her, it was -

And then they were in the Museion, with its marble walls and hushed whispers, and Ategnatos hauled him down a corridor and into a small room, where he shut the door and turned toward him.  His eyes were exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept.

“Gabinius is coming, you say?”

“Yes,” said Kallias.  He looked around.  It was a bedroom, sparsely furnished.  He sat on the bed; he remembered these rooms too well, and felt uncomfortable.

Ategnatos crossed the room in a stride and sat beside him.

“Tell me everything.”

_Everything_.  He knew what Ategnatos meant; why his loyalty to the Queen was so strong, and why he felt this crushing sense of despair upon him.  It occurred to him that the man sitting beside him was probably his friend.

Where did he begin?  He wasn’t sure if he could put it into words.

“I was born in Corinth,” he said slowly.  Right, it was a good start.  “Right before Sulla sacked the city.”

Ategnatos’ eyes widened; the sacking of Corinth was the most brutal the world had witnessed since Carthage burnt to the ground.  Kallias swallowed; his tongue was thick and heavy.

“We escaped, my sisters, my mother and father, but we lost everything.  All that we had was destroyed.  We came here, to Alexandria; it was where I spent my youth.  This city was my first love.”

“And then?” asked Ategnatos, because ‘and then’ was all that could have come next.  The man seemed to sense that something had gone wrong, horribly, abysmally wrong, and Kallias didn’t know whether to be wary or grateful.

“I was fifteen when it happened.  We were very poor, you see.  My father couldn’t keep a job and resorted to crime.  He made huge amounts of money and lost more, all in one night.  The strain was too much, we couldn’t take it, and…”

He hesitated, steeling himself.  “One day, my father and I were working.  An acquaintance of my father’s spotted me and made my father an offer he couldn’t refuse.  If he sold me, said this man, my family would be rich.  My father was not a kind man, and we didn’t see eye to eye.”

“He sold his own son?”

“I was a slave.  For eleven years, I was hired out to people and _fucked_ like a dog.”  He spat the words out, tears gathering in his eyes.  “I was less than human.  You want to know the best part?  The sack of money my father got in exchange for his son was counterfeit.  Worthless.  I’d been sold for nothing.”

Ategnatos didn’t seem shocked.  His face was sad, his eyes a darker green than before.

“Eventually I started doing the rounds here.  With the philosophers.  And if I had the time, I’d do some of the kitchenmaids’ hair.  Word got around, I did the hair of the handmaidens, and Berenice saw, and she liked what she saw.  She freed me at the same time she drove her father out of Egypt.  I was freed with the revolution.  I owe her my life, my sanity, everything.”

“I’m… I’m so…”

“Don’t be.”

“So you feel a loyalty to her.”

“Of course.”

“There’s not much you can do,” he said quietly.  “It’s a Roman army.”

“I know,” Kallias answered.  “It doesn’t mean it should happen.”

Atgenatos was quiet beside him.  There was nothing to say, nothing that could ease the pain.  He opened his mouth briefly, wetting his lips, furrowing those ridiculous eyebrows, and made as if to speak, then closed his mouth, and opened it again.

“If you - if you want, you can come down to dinner.  With - with us, the teachers, and philosophers, and…”

Kallias smiled ruefully, shaking his head.  “Don’t you remember?  Some know me rather too intimately for a meal to be entirely comfortable.”

“O-of course.  Yes.”

“I’ll be on my way,” he said, standing up.  Ategnatos, oddly flushed, hurried to open the door, babbling.

“If you need to… I’m always…”

His voice trailed off and Kallias, eyes dry and lazy smile masking his face again, made a graceful exit.

 

Kallias, these days, slept well.  It had taken him a while; the first year of freedom saw him waking most nights, sweating and tangled within a blanket that seemed to suffocate his very skin.  Those dreams only happened a few times a year now.  Sometimes, it worried him how easy it could be to forget.

So, when he woke up in the night, consistently, for the next two weeks, he panicked every time.  Had he dreamt again?  Sometimes, he didn’t remember the dreams, but the fear and anguish still ate at him.  But these weren’t nightmares; these were strange dreams void of anything tangible.  Just a strange sense of feeling lost, alone, and he didn’t know why.

It was on the fifteenth consecutive night that he woke up with a sensation of urgency.  He needed to tell someone something, an idea, something very important, and curse Serapis, he’d forgotten it!  He’d been so sure of himself, and yet the thought was gone.  It took him a minute to realise that he was standing up, a blanket half-wrapped around him.  To an outsider, he would have seemed a madman.

The nineteenth night, it happened again.  That same, fleeting thought, an urgent message he needed to deliver - and he _could not remember_.  That morning, Berenice’s advisors were absent, and he told her this, to which she mysteriously retorted: “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?  Who have you been talking about for the past month?”

The statement puzzled him long after he’d done her hair.  It wasn’t as if he talked about people - politics was the conversation hijacking everyone’s tongue anyway - and to talk about someone for an entire month?  Surely she was wrong, it wasn’t like him to obsess.  Was it?  No, she was wrong, certainly.  And besides - oh.

But what on earth did he need to tell Ategnatos so urgently?

He did suppose they were _friends_ now - friends who argued a lot, but friends nonetheless - and they talked most days, and he felt a certain affection for the man, not to mention a connection which didn’t even make _sense_ , but oh, there he was, right ahead, eyes lighting up and - no.

_Oh no._

He couldn’t be.

He was _falling for him._

Ategnatos walked toward Kallias, and his eyes were suddenly extraordinary, and Kallias went weak at the knees and no no no no _no_ , he could _not_ be falling for an ugly Celt with stupid eyebrows and a stupider sense of humour and an awful pair of knobbly knees and _no._

Just his luck.

Ategnatos smiled and Kallias wanted to punch his teeth out.  Maybe he’d be less attractive then.

What was he saying?  The man couldn’t possibly be attractive!

“Kallias!” said Ategnatos.

He began to talk, but Kallias tuned out everything he possibly could, and started panicking.

“…unless you’d like to join me?”

“Yes,” said Kallias.

Wait, what had Ategnatos just said?

The Celt turned and began to walk in the direction of the Library, and Kallias felt another wave of panic wash over him.

“Ategnatos!” he hissed.

Isis, why was the man so fast?

He jogged to catch up, but Ategnatos had began babbling about Plato’s ideal republic and he couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  Nothing to do but wait it out, but oh, this _would_ be embarrassing.

They reached the Library reasonably quickly.  It was sparsely populated today, the odd scholar pouring through dusty scrolls, on which worldshaking truths had been inscribed in faint, spidery Greek.  Kallias couldn’t care less about worldshaking truths, especially not right now.

Ategnatos, upon approaching the nearest shelf, started flicking through the scrolls, reading labels and shaking his head every now and then.  He turned and looked at Kallias with surprise.  “What are you waiting for?  Go find something!” he grinned, adding, “if your feeble brain can handle it.”

“Ategnatos,” whispered Kallias.  “I can’t read.”

The Celt stared at him.  “I said you didn’t have to come; weren’t you listening?”

“No, I -” and curse every god in the heavens three times over, Kallias was turning red, and his voice wouldn’t work and Ategnatos was staring at him, though whether the look was mocking or confused he couldn’t tell.  It was the eyes, really.  And the voice too, so foreign and strong and wonderful.  “I’ll…” and damn it all, his voice wasn’t working and if he kissed the man here and now, what would it matter?

_No, that was a terrible idea_.  Zeus’ balls, what was he thinking?  “I-I’ll just stay.  Can’t have you getting lonely, can we?”

Internally he winced; he sounded like one of those awful old philosophers desperate to stick their cock in anything at all.  If Ategnatos was disturbed, he didn’t show it; he simply shrugged and selected a scroll, sitting at a bench and unrolling it with a breath of barely disguised bliss; as he read, he seemed to soak up the words.  Kallias watched him out of the corner of his eye, as a beam of sunlight angled through the window and bathed them in gold.  Ategnatos’ eyelashes were suddenly illuminated, his lips outlined, his fingers, thin and white took on an otherworldly glow.  His chest rose and fell as his eyes scattered through the words, and his mouth gently moved, silent speeches upon his tongue.  Kallias had thought he found true happiness on the night Auletes was overthrown.  But this had to be happiness, _this_ moment where the air was sweet and clear and Ategnatos was beside him, their legs almost touching - no, there wasn’t a word for it; language would spoil something so bittersweet and pure, and the hours passed and Kallias bathed in it all.

Well, by the time Ategnatos had finished, Kallias’ left leg was numb, so perhaps the scene wasn’t quite so idyllic after all, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching slightly as the left the Library and reentered the Museion.  There was a silence between them, but this time it was comfortable, affectionate.  He smiled at Ategnatos, and Ategnatos smiled back.  They reached the lodgings, and Kallias stated the obvious: “Aren’t you going to eat dinner?”

Ategnatos stared at him.  “Dinner?  I’m not hungry.  Can’t you see, it’s - oh, you’re hopeless,” and then suddenly the distance between them didn’t exist and their lips were touching and nothing seemed real.

To be honest, he wasn’t aware what was happening at first; and then he realised that yes, this was _Ategnatos_ kissing him, Ategnatos running his hands through his hair and pressing him against the wall, and then Kallias wondered if this was just his imagination gone wild, and suddenly, he didn’t give a damn anymore.

Ategnatos gave a sudden, quiet moan that may have passed unnoticed had Kallias not felt the vibrations all throughout his mouth.  He seized the chance to lead them down the corridor, pressing quick kisses down Ategnatos’ neck.  Blinded, he was purely guessing how far away the door was, but Ategnatos stopped him suddenly and dropped one hand from his hair to push down on the handle, and suddenly they were in his room.  The kiss was broken as Ategnatos moved to shut the door, and Kallias was laughing quietly beside the bed, because how could this be real?  He grabbed the Celt by the neck of his chiton and swung him around toward the bed; they collapsed there in a tangle of limbs and kisses.

Kallias’ mouth hovered over his collarbone, but with what looked like some difficulty, Ategnatos hauled himself up onto his elbows.  He seemed half-dazed, his mouth a dark red, but kept his composure somewhat.  “Kallias, you’re sure you want to…”

“Never surer.”

“It’s just, after what you’ve been -”

“I’ve slept with others since,” Kallias said quickly, although it was a lie and a huge one at that.  “I’ve healed, it’s alright.”  He hadn’t healed; he knew he’d never fully be over it.  But surely it would be alright?  It had to be; he had Ategnatos beneath him and the man was hard against his thigh.  Yes, it would be alright.  He lowered his head and kissed the man again, sweetly, reassuringly.

Ategnatos slid out from under him and then Kallias found himself pressed into the bed.  He flipped onto his back, pulling Ategnatos down for a kiss, groaning as the man’s lips moved down his jawline.  Said man immediately pulled his lips away.  “Stubble?  It’ll rip my mouth to shreds.  Get rid of it.”

Kallias rolled his eyes and turned his attention to removing the chiton; not an easy task, seeing as those lips were moving down his chest and it was _incredibly distracting_.  However, Ategnatos seemed to take notice and began fiddling with the chiton himself, cursing as his fingers fumbled; Kallias sat up and eventually the thing came off.

There were many things to love in a person, thought Kallias, and he was falling for Ategnatos all over again without even realising it.  Pressed together, clutching at one another like the night sky clutched at the stars, Kallias had forgotten how to breathe all of a sudden, and then his cock brushed Ategnatos’, and he couldn’t help but gasp, although he tried to swallow the noise.  The Celt noticed and laughed, and reached down to the floor, busying himself with something.  Kallias paid no heed until a finger, cold and slick, pressed against him and he almost jumped.  Ategnatos looked smug, and he smelt something familiar.

“Olive oil?” he asked, laughing.

“Readily available anywhere.”

“And you’ve been keeping at beside your bed?  Expecting somebody?”

The smug glance was wiped off his face in an instant, replaced by a furious rush of blood to the cheeks.  Ategnatos blushing; this was an unexpected and rather pleasant sight.  The man was stuttering, and Kallias strained upward, holding his ear close to his lips.

“Y-you.”

Kallias grinned.  “Why, Ategnatos, you bad boy!”  His smile grew wider, and his voice dropped to a whisper.  “Say that again.”

“You.  I was expecting you.”  And then slowly, surely, a finger curled inside him and he groaned, despite himself.

Another finger followed, and a third, leaving Kallias gasping, grasping at Ategnatos, writhing on the bed.  He heard a chuckle above his ear.  Just as quickly as they had come, the fingers were gone and _oh_ , ever so slowly, Ategnatos began to press into him.

Kallias pulled him in for another bruising kiss.  He was shaking; in fact they both were - their bodies trembling in the gaze of something vast and untameable.  Kallias had the distinct sense he couldn’t peel himself away from Ategnatos even if he wanted to.  “You’re ready?” the Celt whispered, eyes glimmering.  It was impossible to speak, so Kallias simply nodded.

It was completely natural, almost like they had been created to perfectly fit into each other, every little crevice; there was no space between their bodies.  They moved in for kiss after kiss, exchanging quiet moans.  Kallias felt an odd compulsion to laugh, but it was quickly replaced by a gasp as a wave of pleasure crashed over him, and he bit down into Ategnatos’ shoulder, earning a harder thrust.

They came at almost the same time, Ategnatos a mere second before Kallias.  He was surprised to note the tears rolling down the man’s face and brushed a thumb below his eyelid, wiping them away.  Quietly, gently, Ategnatos pulled out, still clinging to Kallias.  They lay bathed in a thin veneer of sweat, letting their bodies shine slightly in the evening light pouring through a high window above them.  Neither spoke; there were no words to say.  They were wrapped so tightly together it was nigh impossible to discern one from the other; and it made an instinctive kind of sense to stay like that, until they fell asleep.

 

The night, cold but calm, in that little room, was disturbed by Kallias gasping, sobbing, shouting as he awoke, holding Ategnatos as he had been for hours already.  The Celt’s eyes flew open and he struggled up.  “Kallias!  Kallias!  What is it?”

“I dreamed… shit, I dreamed that…”

And then it dawned on him why that horrific dream, always the same, had occurred tonight of all nights.

He rubbed his eyes furiously.  “I wasn’t… I lied, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t ready… my body, yes; my mind, no….”

“Breathe, Kallias, breathe.”

“It’s still haunting me, and there’s nothing I can…”

“I’m so sorry, I should have known…”

“There was nothing you could have known,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t know myself.”

Ategnatos looked exhausted.  “What do you want to do?  Stay here or go home?”

Stay?  Oh Isis, he could stay here forever.  “I’ll stay, by the gods yes, I’ll stay.”

 

“You can’t stay here,” said Archelaus, frustration written on his face.  “They’ll kill you, Berenice; how many times does a man have to stay it?”

“I’ll wait until you return from Pelesium; I’m not leaving without you.”

“How do we get you out?” asked Areios Didymos, whose hair was thinning at just twenty-five.

Diocretes looked gleeful.  “We’ve figured it out.  This palace has been expanded and built over countless times, and there’s traces of it everywhere - like a passage, dating from the second Ptolemy’s reign.  Running below the palace until it becomes a canal, on the other side of the docks.  It’s well sheltered and well hidden; we can smuggle you out and take you to a ship, and sail to safety.  If we hug the coast, the winter storms shouldn’t be a problem.”

Berenice sighed.  “Thank you, Diocretes.  You’ve done so much.  I just can’t shake this guilt - we’re abandoning those who need me most.  This will be Alexandria’s darkest hour, mark my words.  I should be there for my people.”

Kallias never spoke when she was talking with her advisors.  While they trusted him, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to interrupt, or really, commment on the situation in any way whatsoever.  But today, there was a silence, and the previous night had left him reckless, and he said, quietly, as he gathered together stray strands by her ears, “And what use will you be to your people when you are dead?”

Her eyes strayed up.  “You didn’t sleep last night,” she observed coolly.  “I _wonder_ why?”

He would have retorted back at her had Archelaus not stepped in.  “Forgive me, dearest wife, but the life of a hairdresser, fascinating though it may be, is not our topic of conversation.”  He glared at Kallias; Kallias returned the favour.  “I leave for Pelesium in a week; we’ll meet them there and die fighting.”

Below he felt Berenice recoil.  “You don’t mean that.”

“We haven’t got a chance in Hades.  I’m leading these men to their ends; the least I can do is die with them.”

Her neck was white and covered in gooseflesh.  Her back was straight as a rod, her shoulders clenched.  Down in her lap, her fists clenched, gathering brightly coloured fabric.  As much as Kallias disliked Archelaus, he didn’t want him _dead_ \- for Berenice was twenty-one going on twenty-two, and would be left a widow without a child.  Her grieving for her husband had already begun.

“It’s a _waste_ ,” she hissed.  “A damn _waste._ If you’d just forget your pride, come with me -”

“It’s not my pride.  It’s Egypt’s pride that’s running through me, just the same as you.  Egypt’s pride makes you want to stay; Egypt’s pride makes me want to fight.”

“You’re a fool, a damn fool…”

Kallias felt an immense sense of terror, as if they were at the edge of a cliff, and the rocks were falling out from under them.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it.  Was Fate playing a huge joke on all of them?  The world had stopped any kind of reason long ago.

It was hours later when he walked through the streets of Alexandria, loving each and every wall, roof, street.  He may never do this again, came the realisation; an unwelcome one, and he banished it from his mind.  It had stopped raining, leaving the ground shining slightly in the midday light.

How much longer? he wondered.  Just how much longer did he have here?  And Ategnatos, who had just arrived, would he leave with Kallias - or was this just a fling?  No, there was precious little room on that ship.  He’d have to leave the man behind.  The very thought of it made his body ache - the one good thing he had found in all the madness of this winter; was that to be taken from him too?

 

He returned to Ategnatos that night.  The man was asleep in his bed; Kallias slipped in, curling up until Ategnatos’ eyes snapped open.

“Your legs are freezing,” he said sharply, wrapping an arm around him.

Kallias pressed the offending legs againt him, making him yelp.

“Where were you today, anyway?” the Celt asked quietly.  “I didn’t see you.”

“Walking around, mulling things over,” he replied.  “Just thinking.  This morning, I was with the Queen and her advisors - they’ve got a plan to smuggle her out of the castle.”

Ategnatos’ eyes lit up curiously.  “How?”

“There’s a passage from the cellar.  Runs underneath the palace and becomes a canal.”

They lay there, silent for a while, until Ategnatos stirred and lifted himself up onto one elbow.  “Are you scared?” he asked softly.  “About the Romans?”

“Of course.  We’d be stupid not to.  A Roman army entering the city - it’s one step closer to annexation.”

“You believe it will happen?”

“Eventually.”

 

The army left without pomp or fanfare; no cheers from the people.  They were silent, afraid, as Berenice embraced her husband and watched him mount his horse to lead the army through the city walls.  Berenice herself looked thinner and paler, although her hair looked spectactular if Kallias did say so himself.

As Berenice and the royal procession left, the crowd filled with murmurs.  Hushed whispers scattered through the cold air, the half-stifled sob of a mother who knew she had lost her only son.  Some left for the temples, for what was there left to do but pray?  Pray to gods who had seen millenia of bloodshed and futility.  They too were tired of it all; their statues seemed less regal, omnipotent.  A futile exhaustion stole over the city, seeping into the bones of the young, the old, the rich, the poor.

Back at the Museion, Ategnatos was not teaching, nor had he gone to the library.  Kallias returned to the room, only to find him stuffing things frantically into a small bag, the kind you strap against your body to keep it from thieves.

“Kallias!  Oh, thank Jupiter!  Quickly, quickly, go home, get your belongings and come with me.  I know someone - he’ll take us up the coast today.  Kallias - Kallias, please, don’t just stand there, we have to go now!  Come _on_!”

“What is it?  What’s happened?”

“Never mind, that’s not important - you’re not _moving_ , come _on_!”

Kallias grabbed Ategnatos’ wrists.  “Stop!  Tell me what’s going on - no, stop it!  Talk to me!”

Ategnatos closed his eyes, gave one dry, ragged sob, and sat on the bed.  “We can’t stay here.  We have to leave.  Today, before - oh, I can’t - Kallias.  Please.  Trust me, you have to - you have to trust me.  We need to get out.”

“I’m not leaving.  I made a promise; I intend to keep it.  I’m not leaving without her.”

“What, so you can keep her pretty little ringlets shiny in exile?  Kallias, _it doesn’t matter._   It’s too dangerous here - Jupiter, just listen to me!  I’m leaving, and you have to come with me.  Why won’t you listen?  Please!”

“I’m going with her.  Come if you want, but my loyalty is to my country, to my Queen.  I’d gladly die for her, you know that!”

“Live for me then!”  With a shock, Kallias saw hot, angry tears spilling from his eyes; he seemed half deranged with frustration.  “ _Live for me!_ ”

“I’ve known you for little more than a month,” he said, and it hurt him in his gut to say it, so much that he was doubling up, “and I can’t live for that, I can’t.”

Ategnatos pressed a fist to his month.  “Fine then.”  They were both crying; Kallias tried his best to straighten up, but it felt as if he’d been stabbed - he felt a _connection_ to this man, one that he couldn’t explain, almost as if they’d known each other longer than they’d lived, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t let it go.

“Get out.”

The words struck at his core.  Ategnatos strode to the door and held it open.  “Leave.  I shouldn’t have bothered at all.”

They looked each other in the eye; those emeralds were dark and troubled, bloodshot with tears.  The lips he’d kissed so softly, sweetly, were swollen, not from passion but emotion; a sadness neither of them could understand, because really, in the scheme of things, it shouldn’t hurt this much.  This physical ache wasn’t right, and worse, it wasn’t fair.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Kallias stalked out of the palace, turning into the Canopic Way, still filled with the frightened public.  He suddenly felt an unexplicable hatred for them all, immediately replaced by a wracking guilt.  He turned into the side street and pushed open his door, only to see his room ransacked.  He should have expected it really; he hadn’t been here in a week.  It wasn’t as if he owned anything of value; in fact, the one thing he truly valued was gone, and with that, Kallias slid down to the floor, his spine pressing the door shut, and cried harder than he’d done in years.

 

“You’re sure about this?” asked Berenice, pacing back and forth.

“I promised you I’d stay, my Queen, and I intend to uphold that promise until the day I die, he answered, voice stoic.

They hadn’t received word from Pelesium at all, and it was long overdue.  Shadows lurked under the eyes of everyone left in the palace; most servants had been dismissed and over half the slaves had been freed.  Berenice seemed a ghost of her former self; she was far too thin, her skin milk-white and dry.

Suddenly, a great cry erupted from outside.  The advisors huddled together, whispering frantically.  Berenice’s eyes widened; she rushed to the window, pulling the shutters open with a strength he hadn’t seen from her in weeks.  Kallias ran to join her, leaning over, half his body straining past the ledge.  The people were standing in the streets; the noise was unintellegible but they were facing to the east.  Kallias peered their way, and from the height of their vantage point, there was a black shadow on the horizon.

The shout of one man drifted upward on the breeze.  Kallias didn’t catch it, but Berenice gasped and ran back to the advisors, crying, crying “The army has returned!  Our army has returned!  If Archelaus - oh, thank the gods, we are saved!”

She ran back to the window, climbing up onto the marble ledge.  Instinctively, Kallias grabbed her hand for balance, as she raised her other fist in the air and shouted, “People of Alexandria, we are saved!”

The citizens roared upon seeing her, shouting her name, but she wasn’t watching; her head was firmly turned to the east and the approaching army.  The distance was less than it seemed, the Egyptians moving quickly across the rocky ground.

After fifteen minutes of this, Diocretes asked her to come to him, to look at something - a scroll or a map or something Kallias couldn’t read - and so he continued to gaze out at the army, the wind, cold as ever, slapping his face, and if Ategnatos was here, if he hadn’t been so afraid of the Romans approaching - for what other reason could he have to leave? - then he would be with Kallias.  It shouldn’t have been this way.  The ache in his belly was constant, throbbing, a reminder of what he had given up for love of his country, and despite his firm stance, he _doubted_ sometimes, doubted whether it was worth it.

But today, it was.

The army was less than a mile from the gates, but it was huge.  Too huge, and Kallias felt a chill come over him.  No.  No, those weren’t Egyptians.  That wasn’t an Egyptian army.

The Romans had come.

He sprinted from the window, shouting, and what little colour was left in Berenice’s face disappeared; Diocretes sprang into action, and all those who were left: Kallias, a few handmaidens, the advisors, followed him, down the stairs.  Berenice was shouting something, something about the people, and that was when the first screams started to echo from the streets below.  There was no time to grieve, just run down seemingly endless flights of stairs.  They passed the royal chambers and raced through the throne room, down another flight of stairs into the kitchens, where Kallias had spent so much time, but there was no wave of blistering heat; all the cooks and kitchenmaids had been dismissed days ago.  The shrieks from outside were louder now, and a more sinister sound was audible: the sound of marching.

“They’ll get to the palace first: we need to hurry!” cried Diocretes, and they kept running, down more stairs to the cellar; one of the girls tripped and fell, and Kallias helped her up, pulling her by the hand as they raced to catch up; the cellar door burst open and the party was surrounded by shelves upon shelves of the finest wine the world had to offer.

Diocretes was the only one who knew where he was going.  They followed him to a section of shelves full of Falernian wine, and suddenly he was heaving at one shelf.  Kallias was confused, but Berenice and the advisors took hold of the shelf and pulled with all their might; it shifted around, but dozens of bottles crashed to the ground, dark liquid seeping into thir shoes.  It didn’t matter; behind the shelves was a door.  Built in the second Ptolemy’s reign… it had to be at least two hundred years old.  Kallias experienced a moment of panic; what if the old tunnel collapsed on them?  Too late; Diocretes had opened the door and they raced inside.  It was dark, very dark, but one of the advisors had brought a torch, seemingly for this very purpose.  The flames flickered, illuminating a small portion of the tunnel ahead.  They advanced quickly but carefully, as the musty walls threatened to squeeze the life out of them all.

Above them, the muffled sound of marching echoed eerily.  They’d entered the palace.  Kallias felt a chill run through his blood.

“Wait,” said Diocretes, holding up a hand.  They halted, watching him closely.

He strained his neck forward, and that was when they heard it.  The faint sound of footsteps, the soft clinking of metal; not close, but coming to it.

“They’ve found us,” gasped the girl Kallias had helped up earlier.

Her voice carried through the tunnel and the footsteps picked up speed; immediately they began to run the way they had come.  The torch was behind him, so he could see very little, but it was hard to breathe, getting worse and worse as he continued.  Kallias strained his ears ahead, and then the clinking of bottles rang a chime toward them, and he froze.  “They’re in the cellar.”

Ambushed from both sides; it was worse than any of Kallias’ old nightmares.  The flame was dying, the sound of approaching soldiers growing louder and louder.  Diocretes was whispering to them all, and he tuned in.

“…a complete secret!  How could anyone have known?”

“I never told a soul,” murmured the girl next to him, and Kallias felt a horrible lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Nor I.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Nobody knew.”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody.”

The advisors were all shaking their heads, the girls too, and they all looked at him.  Kallias felt their gaze; his mind was whirring.  It couldn’t be… he couldn’t have… it was impossible…

“I-I…”

But he’d never shown any sign of it… he didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t comprehend it…

Berenice was watching him, her face soft and expectant.

“I t-told At-Ategnatos.”

He heard the gasps, heard the footsteps so close now, but his eyes were fixed in Berenice.  Her whole face shifted and it was a terrible thing to behold; Kallias would have understood anger, but her face was not angry.  It was cold.  Indifferent.  Her eyes held no meaning, no affection for him.  There was not a shred of emotion exposed anywhere on the planes of her cheekbones, nose, eyebrows, forehead, anything.

Then, that face changed again, as a pair of hands gripped her and she gave a furious cry, hands tearing at her attacker.

Kallias turned to run, like the coward he was, but someone had hold of him and oh, Isis, he couldn’t get away.  He yelled and kicked, but his attacker was seemingly made of steel.  The screams of the girls behind him rang in his ears; the angry shouts of his Queen, the one _he had betrayed_ , slammed through his mind and he howled, biting down on the soldier’s hand before something crashed down onto his skull and the world disappeared.

 

He could smell the sea.  That was the first thing Kallias noticed before he opened his eyes; the salty tang in his nostrils and upon his tongue.  Crack by crack, his eyelids peeled open.  He was staring at a cloudy sky.

Then he remembered.

Ategnatos had betrayed him, betrayed them all, spilled the secret of the tunnel to the Romans and they’d taken Berenice, and Kallias wanted to die.

“Kallias?”

That voice was familiar.

He turned around, earning himself a bolt of agony through his head - yes, it was pain, it was real.  He was real.  The shock caused him to slump down on the ground… no, no, it was a deck.  The planks of wood were rough below him.  The pieces came together: he was on a ship.

Slowly, carefully, he sat up.  His head hurt; his legs were bruised; his palms were raw.  The world around him was bright, fuzzy, hyperreal.

“Kallias!”

He spun himself around and there, leaning against the mast, was Ategnatos.

“You fucking bastard!”

Screaming, cursing, he staggered up, and stumbled toward the man, eyes burning.  His legs, though, were weak, jelly-like, and he abruptly fell down, coughing, another flash of pain stabbing through his skull.

A hand on his shoulder.  “Kallias, I thought… I thought you were going to die.”

He had to think rationally, logically.  He could kill this man later.  “How - how long was I unconscious?”

“A few days.”

He nodded, looking anywhere but those eyes.  “Why?”

“Why did I betray you?”

“No.  You betrayed me because you’re a fucking bastard.  Why did you bring me here?  Why did you bother to save me?”

Ategnatos hesitated, sighed.  “Words don’t cover it; you know that as well as I do.”  He paused, wetted his lips.  “I was able to save you by telling them you were the informant, that you led them down there.”

“But you left…”

“I came back.  It’s the same boat.”

“Wait.”  Kallias’ brain was foggy, unable to process anything.  “You… you told them I was the informant?  I was a spy?”

“They would have executed you.”

“You piece of shit!  That - oh, curse the gods!  _That’s_ what my home city remembers me as?  That’s how she would have remembered me as when she went to her death!”  He paused, blinded by tears.  “She did die, didn’t she?”

Ategnatos nodded.  “They beheaded her in the gymnasium.  It was a public event.  The whole city came, and nobody cheered.  They said she was as brave as any man.”

“She was braver; but she died because of you.”

“Sit up,” said Ategnatos, hauling him up by the arms and propping him up against the mast.  “I’m going to explain it all, but all I ask is that you listen, and don’t,” and here his voice cracked, “please don’t interrupt until I’m finished.

“You don’t deserve my attention.”

“I know, I know, but you want to know the truth, yes?  Kallias… please, just listen.”

He could only think of Berenice, kneeling before the sword came down.  The bravest woman he’d ever known - no, the bravest _human_ he’d ever known.

“I am a teacher, a scholar.  I didn’t lie.  I spent most of my youth in Rome, and I lived there until I came here to Alexandria.  Still, when you’re a teacher in Rome, you’re not respected like you are here.  I was poor, I made nothing.  I’m a foreigner, not a Roman citizen, and they never bothered to disguise their contempt for me.  A poor, uncultured Gaul.

“And then, Ptolemy Auletes came to Rome.  He’s a pathetic man.  Bombarded the Senate with letters, begging them to take pity and return him to the throne.  They ignored him; they didn’t want to get caught up in Egyptian affairs.  At least, they didn’t until Gabinius wanted the job.  In Rome, Egypt means one thing: money, and that’s all Gabinius wanted.

“Gabinius convinced the Senate to let him lead an army to Egypt.  He was going to be fighting in the East anyway; why not kill two birds with one stone?  I heard about this, and it seemed a golden opportunity.  I wanted to teach in Alexandria, where I’d have more opportunity, but I didn’t have the money to get there.  So I met with Auletes and convinced him to place me in Alexandria as a spy.  I’d be teaching at the Library; what better a way to get close to the palace?

“And then I met you.

“You had direct access to the Queen and her advisors; you knew more about the secrets of the country than anyone else I’d met.  It was pure luck we met, and the best opportunity I could have been given.  You followed me around; how much better could it have gone?  I became friendly with you.  We had conversations, but I gleaned nothing from them.

“Then you told me about your past, and I nearly cracked.  I’m not a good spy, Kallias; I’m too susceptible to emotion, and despite myself, I’d grown fond of you.  I didn’t want to use you, but I’ll admit it: I was scared.  Auletes was a fool, but he’d be perfectly happy to kill me if I didn’t give him what he needed.

“Except,” and to his surprise, Kallias saw a tear spill from Ategnatos’ eye, “I fell for you.  There’s something about you, Kallias; this kind of attraction I felt, but didn’t know was there, something in the belly that pulls me toward you.  Something that aches when we’re apart, and only eases when we’re together.

“I didn’t want to betray you.  I didn’t sleep with you so you’d give me information.  The self-loathing - you couldn’t possibly…”

“Believe me, I know,” Kallias said darkly, and Ategnatos’ shoulders slumped.

“I didn’t do it lightly, but when you told me about the tunnel, I wrote to Auletes.  It didn’t occur to me that you’d be with them.  That’s why I wanted to leave; I wanted to be somewhere safe, away from Ptolemy’s clutches.  But you’re too stubborn, Kallias.  Too loyal.  I couldn’t get you to come with me.

“I never hated myself as much as I did at that point.  I’m not a good person.  I’m not brave, or strong; I’m a coward.  You trusted me, and I betrayed you.  I killed someone you loved, and I brought back something you - your whole country had worked so hard to keep away.  And I loved you - oh Jupiter, I am so, _so,_ sorry.”

Kallias didn’t know what to do; Ategnatos had curled up, sobbing into his hands, and it was an emotion he recognised, something he felt within every inch of himself: shame.

“We’re broken,” he said quietly.

Ategnatos looked at him, green eyes swimming.

“We’re broken and we don’t know how to fix it,” he continued.  “But we can’t fix it alone.  M-maybe we can…”

“Can what?”

“Fix each other.”

 

Because the world was a dark and angry place, and they needed all the light they could get.  Because guilt was too heavy a burden to bear alone.  But mostly, because deep down, Ategnatos loved Kallias, and Kallias loved Ategnatos, and maybe, just maybe, a little love could patch up a hole that was eating away at them both.  And that’s why Kallias leaned over and kissed Ategnatos, as that boat passed Pelesium and moved up the coast, far, far away.


End file.
